


A Different Sort of Innocence Lost

by Heiwako



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, General fiction, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heiwako/pseuds/Heiwako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Copyright Bethesda<br/>Comments appreciated</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Different Sort of Innocence Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright Bethesda  
> Comments appreciated

30th of Morning Star, 4E 189

"Do you see anything that you like?" 

Cicero turned away from the weapons display case to look at the young blacksmith apprentice. She was smiling with her hands crossed behind her back. Her short black hair hung to just below her chin. A streak of soot was comically smeared across her nose. 

"You have a bit of," Cicero said, gesturing at the smudge. 

The girl went cross-eyed trying to look at the offending mark. "Oh, Mara!" she cursed as she pulled out a piece of cloth and tried to wipe it off. Unfortunately, she kept missing the area. "I swear, you would think I would know better by now. I always forget that I've got soot on my hands from working the metal and then I run it across my face to get the sweat off and this happens." 

"Let me get it," Cicero offered, smiling at her antics. The assassin took the cloth and ran it over the girl's face until she was clean again. 

The redhead mentally made note of the girl. She looked young, barely of an age to be apprenticed out. She was an Imperial like him. They were of a similar height, uncommon for Cicero. Usually he was the shorter person unless they were a Breton and even then that wasn't always true. 

"Thanks," she said as she took back the cloth. "My master would be mad if he knew I was talking to customers while looking like I just fell out of the forge." She offered her hand which Cicero easily shook. "I'm Phoebe. I've noticed you were over here for quite a while. Having a hard time finding what you want?" 

Cicero mentally berated himself for becoming noticed. He had staked out here because the shop had a clear view of the clothier the jester had gone into. The man had entered about an hour ago and Cicero had no idea what he was doing in there. Now the assassin had lingered long enough that he had become memorable. 

It would have been smarter to move among the different shops. The best way to stay invisible was to keep moving. It was a novice mistake that Cicero never should have made. 

He fingered his iron dagger as he wondered if he was going to need to remove the apprentice less she remember him later. A quick survey showed that no one else was in the shop and no passersby were close enough to hear her if she gave a short scream before dying. 

"I figured you for a dagger wielder," Phoebe chuckled, noticing the motion. "I prefer them too for their speed. When I bother with a weapon anyway." She moved over to the case to glance at what was available. 

"Isn't that a bit ironic?" Cicero asked. "A blacksmith without arms or armor?" 

"It's not that I travel defenselessly," Phoebe clarified. "I just usually manage to talk my way out of trouble instead of fighting. I tend to flail about uselessly." The Imperial demonstrated by whirling in a circle while gesticulating wildly. She looked around the empty store and winked playfully. "Don't tell anyone, please. It wouldn't do to advertise that." The apprentice turned back to look inside the case again. 

Cicero moved so he was behind her, pretending to look at the case too. In reality, he was prepared to stab Phoebe if she gave any indication that she was suspicious of his presence. His eyes flickered to the clothier, but there was still no sign of the jester. 

"In case you were interested, we do have a variety of other weapons. And we craft to order," Phoebe rambled, immersed in what sounded like a typical sales pitch. "However, I noticed you've been over here mostly. We have a wide range of daggers and knives, good for either fighting or general use." 

The assassin tuned out the girl's chatter as he glanced at the clothier's again and the street that lead away from it. Thankfully there was no sign of a retreating jester's back. 

Cicero wouldn't afford to wait any longer on completing his contract. Tonight was his last night before officially taking up the mantle of Keeper. Rasha had given him until the end of the month to kill the jester, his last contract ever. The Imperial had been given less than a week to locate the man and study his patterns to plan the best opportunity to remove him. Hardly any time at all, really, but it was generous of his Speaker to give him a contract. Cicero had been named Keeper and it would have been well within Rasha's power to have him immediately retire his blade. 

Cicero wouldn't afford to lose track of the jester. It would devastate him if he failed his final mission. He had no idea where his target was going after his trip into the market. More importantly, he had already set up a secured area for the jester's final hours. It was secluded, safe, and had all of his tools there. If he was forced to find the man later, it would have to be a quick throat slitting, which would be unsatisfying and would void the bonus, and to lose the bonus was like failing the mission for Cicero. 

A little bit of Cicero died when he realized that he would never kill for his god again. He had consoled himself with the honor of being granted the sacred position, but in his heart, Cicero felt that he was a simple assassin who was better suited for killing than preserving. 

"Pardon me for saying so, but you look terribly distracted," Phoebe said, breaking Cicero's train of thought. "Is everything okay?" 

Cicero was startled to see that she was genuinely concerned for him. She didn't know anything about him, not even his name, and she was asking about his well-being. Her kind smile and eyes reminded him painfully of Alisanne Dupre, the last Listener. Cicero quickly pushed that memory away; it was too painful to think of her being dead and the Brotherhood rudderless. 

Phoebe took his hand. "Oh, please don't be sad!" she pleaded. "I didn't mean to make you sad." 

"It's not you," Cicero said roughly, looking away sharply. He quickly generated a story, close enough to the truth. "I've been called home to help take care of my invalid mother. She completely unable to take care of herself and I'm the only child who can watch her properly." 

"That's so sad," Phoebe frowned. She tugged on her blue dress, obviously uncomfortable with Cicero's story. 

Cicero covered the lower half of his face to feign distress, but in reality he was hiding a smile. Most people were uncomfortable with such tales. Not only did they work to distract the listener, but they also made people feel friendlier towards him. It was a useful tactic he had used on occasion when trying to get close to a target who was in a restricted area. 

"It is!" Cicero agreed, getting into his impromptu role. He always felt more comfortable in a role when talking to people outside of the Brotherhood. "I was doing very well as a bodyguard for a well to-do merchant, but when I received the letter from home, I knew I had to return immediately. I barely have any coin left in my pouch for my employer refused to give me my wages. He said I had voided our contract and it was not his concern about my kin! Can you imagine?" 

"That's horrible!" Phoebe exclaimed. "The things some people do for money is shameful." He could see slivers of unshed tears in her eyes, although Cicero wasn't certain if they were tears of sympathy for his family or rage at the unfeeling merchant. 

"I hate to admit it, but I'm actually waiting for an acquaintance of mine who owes me money. He's been rather evasive on paying his debt, and in the past it never mattered, but now I am in great need and my friend is not. I hoped to catch him and convince him to pay his due." 

The story was already coming alive in Cicero's head. How he had been forced to track down this thankless associate who had taken advantage of his generosity. Cicero would never have called up the debt except his own luck had fallen apart. But then the fiend had decided to dodge him instead of just paying. Doubly horrid given that the friend was quite well to do now. 

"That's just so wrong!" Phoebe exclaimed. Cicero was pleased that her reaction was exactly what he had been going for. The blacksmith apprentice turned to the case and opened it. She withdrew an ebony dagger and pressed it into Cicero's hands. "Here, take this. I noticed you holding it a couple of times earlier. A gift from me to you." 

Cicero was stunned at the girl's generosity. Ebony was a rare material and difficult to work with. This blade was worth quite a bit despite not being masterfully crafted. "I can't take this," he protested, pressing the weapon back into the girl's hands. 

"Please take it," she insisted. "I made it myself, so my master won't even notice. Besides, as long as I pay for the materials, the store comes out even." She paused, a bit embarrassed as she ran her hand through her hair. "And to be honest, it's been in the case for a couple of months now and you're the only person to even glance at it. Not many people want to use ebony. I suppose it has a poor connotation associated with the metal, being favored by necromancers and dremora or what have you, but I always thought it looked wonderfully sleek. It would please me to know someone was going to use it." 

"Someone might still buy it," Cicero countered half-heartedly. He agreed with Phoebe about the feel of ebony in his hand. There was a grace in the metal that the coarser materials lacked. It would be a shame if it was never used. 

Sort of like him. Cicero was effectively being placed on a shelf never to be used again. At least not the way he made to be used. 

"I wouldn't ever know," Phoebe admitted. "Today is my last day in the service. I'm on loan from the army and only apprentice here part time. They figured it would give me a helpful skill for the troops while helping the local smith filling the never ending orders the Legion sends for arms and armor. My term is over, so I head out to try to make my fortune tomorrow." 

"Really?" Cicero asked, looking at her again. In the half shadows of the sunset, she still looked painfully young. "How old are you? If that's not too rude." 

"Nineteen," she laughed casually. 

"By the Divines, I wouldn't have thought a day over fifteen," Cicero smiled. 

"I get that a lot," Phoebe shrugged. "I suppose it's a blessing or will be one day. For now, it's a bit annoying to be treated like a kid." 

"Did you cut your hair so short to look older?" Cicero asked. 

"No," Phoebe wrinkled her nose as she touched the short locks. "I actually prefer it longer, but working the forge made that so impractical." She reached over and touched Cicero's fiery hair. Cicero had let it grow past his shoulders and it fell halfway down his back now. He found it was much easier to keep it braided back than worry about it falling forward while on contract. He would cut it to a more manageable length when he returned home since he didn't want to risk it falling into the special oil used on the Night Mother for her weekly ritual. "I'd much rather have hair like this. It's so beautiful." 

Cicero chuckled as he flipped it back over his shoulder. "Well, you can't. It's all mine." 

"Pity," she said, stepping closer to him. She ran her fingers over the hair, a gesture that would have been very uncomfortable for anyone else, but Cicero thought it was interesting. 

"Are you flirting with me?" Cicero asked abruptly. 

"No!" Phoebe blushed and quickly took a pace back. 

"I think you are!" Cicero countered. He placed both of his hands on each side of her so they were resting on the weapons display, effectively pinning her in place. 

The younger woman looked unreasonably cute with her blush and downcast eyes. Cicero grinned wickedly at her reaction and couldn't resist teasing her some. He grabbed Phoebe's chin and tilted her face so he could kiss her. His lips met no resistance and in fact she parted them easily enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth. 

There was a hint of smoke on her lips, but otherwise they were soft and willing. Cicero leaned further into the kiss, enjoying the luxury of physical contact. 

One of the perks of being on contract was getting to get out of Sanctuary for a while and take in any sights or shops. It was not unusual for assassins to partake in some sort of vice, although Cicero usually waited to indulge in extracurricular activities after his kills. It was dangerous to be distracted during a mission. But he would have no time after sending the jester's soul to the Void. Cicero would have to immediately report back to Cheydinhal and retire his blade. 

When Cicero broke the kiss, he looked over to the marketplace and was actually relieved that he did not see the jester leaving the shop yet. As long as he didn't lose track of his prey, Cicero could afford one last sweet memory with a stranger. He would always find physical comfort with a sibling later, but that was a different sort of indulgence. 

Sleeping with a sibling was a soothing experience by being with someone who knew who you were completely. There were no barriers between Brotherhood siblings. But to sleep with someone out of the Brotherhood was more like a rare treat. Cicero did it to release some carnal need more than emotional outlet. 

"I shouldn't," Phoebe whispered when Cicero moved forward to kiss her again. "My master would be displeased if he saw us like this." 

Evening shadows were covering everything now. The market wouldn't be open for much longer. Torches were being lit to help illuminate the streets to guide people home with their last minute purchases. The blacksmith's shop looked closed since Phoebe had not lit any candles yet when she had approached Cicero. He liked how her face was half hidden now. The darkness had always been his friend and now it was making this encounter go a bit smoother than he could have hoped. 

"Where is he?" It would be very inconvenient if the man were to return suddenly. 

"He had to go home," Phoebe admitted. "One of his children wasn't feeling well. He asked for me to close up. I was waiting for you to leave before shutting up for the night." 

"What's he going to do? Fire you?" Cicero teased as he ran his fingers through the younger woman's hair. He loved how flushed she looked from one kiss and couldn't wait to see how she would react to more. 

"I don't want to disappoint him with my behavior." 

"I sincerely doubt you'll be a disappointment," Cicero joked. He pushed Phoebe so they were moving away from the outer area and back towards the sales counter. "However, if it makes you feel better, we can go over here where it's more discreet." 

Cicero made sure that he was still turned so he could keep watch of his prey. It was all well and fine to play around a bit, but his top priority was his contract. No matter how far he had gone with the girl, if the jester showed his face, Cicero would leave her lying on the floor to take off after his target. 

"I don't even know your name," Phoebe protested weakly as Cicero hiked her skirt over her hips. 

"It's not important," Cicero told her. He ran his hands down her thighs, enjoying how strong they felt. There was muscle on the girl, not surprising since she was a blacksmith apprentice, but she hid her bulk well. "I don't need you to remember my name or even my face. I just want you to remember this moment." 

"What if I hate myself tomorrow?" Phoebe asked shyly. "I've never done anything like this." 

Cicero paused, his hands on her hips about to pull her smallclothes off. Of course, she had never done anything like this before. This girl was an innocent. 

He thought of how he would go home tonight and his life would be full of "never agains." He would never again go on contract. He wouldn't know the joy of the hunt or the thrill of the kill. It was unlikely that he would leave Cheydinhal Sanctuary again. His duty as Keeper would keep him by the Night Mother's side, tending to her earthly needs. 

Cicero pressed his lips against Phoebe's ear. "Don't worry about tomorrow. Let it take care of itself and enjoy today. Because that's all we have. Today." 

"Okay," she whispered. Her eyes flickered to his and Cicero was astonished how trusting this woman was. He had barely met her and she was willing to have faith in him. She believed that he wouldn't hurt her, which was quite ironic given his reason for being here. 

"Just say stop at any point and I will," Cicero vowed gently. He draped his cloak forward so that it covered both of them and to give a pretense of privacy. 

Instead of ripping off her underclothes and just taking her as he originally planned, Cicero leaned forward and concentrated on kissing Phoebe again. She responded eagerly, making pleasant mewling noises as his tongue probed her mouth experimentally. 

A moan ripped from her lips when his fingers touched against the cloth covering her sex and Cicero pressed against her sensitive area. She was already dripping wet and her loincloth was soaked. He stroked slowly, enjoying how ruined her face looked already. 

With his other hand, Cicero undid his pants and freed himself. "Touch me," he told Phoebe. When she didn't respond immediately, he grabbed her hand and placed it around his stiff member. "Stroke me." 

Her touch was hesitant at first, barely brushing against his skin, but she quickly gained confidence and strengthened her grip. Months at the forge had created a solid grasp that was almost too painful. 

"Gently," Cicero chided with gritted teeth. 

"Sorry." 

"Don't tell me that you've never touched a man before," Cicero asked, intrigued. She was young, but surely she had lain with someone before. 

"I've never done anything like this before," she repeated, blushing so furiously Cicero wondered if she was going to pass out. 

There was something intoxicating about virgins. Cicero wished desperately that he had met this one just a day sooner so he could take his time breaking her in, showing her the pleasures of the flesh. At the very least he would give her a night to remember and guarantee her first time wasn't a disappointment. 

"It's a shame we don't have more time," he murmured in her ear, "but we'll make do with what we have." 

The assassin nudged Phoebe so her hands were pressed against the shop's counter before he swept her legs up to wrap around his waist. He teased her entrance with his tip, enjoying the looks of pleasure on her face. Cicero leaned forward to kiss her again as he ground against her. She was more than ready by the wetness between her legs. 

"It's going to hurt a bit, since this is your first time," he warned her, "but I promise that it will get better." 

Phoebe nodded her understanding as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She looked nervous but eager. Cicero adjusted and pressed into her, tearing past her maidenhead easily enough. Phoebe gasped and her grip tightened around Cicero's neck momentarily, but then she was relaxing again as he hilted her. 

Cicero continued to kiss her, running up and down her neck before returning to her lips as he set his pace. He loved how she tasted and felt. A hint of the forge, traces of sweat from working with an underlying scent of a perfume she had used this morning. Feminine and strong at the same time. 

His eyes flickered to the clothiers and still no sign of the jester. He would have to finish this soon to be sure. How Cicero wished he could take his time! He always preferred for his hunts to be calculated and masterfully planned. None of this last minute swooping in, killing and leaving. The hunt was as delicious as the kill, and his last one should have been the best of them all. Instead Rasha barely gave him any time. 

Like this girl. She should have been courted and wooed over weeks instead of taken behind a shop counter. But also like his contract, it would still be enjoyable because it was all they had and it would have to be enough. Better a brief moment instead of none at all. 

"Oh sweet Dibella," Phoebe whispered when he pressed his hand against her clit and started to work it as he thrust into her. Her legs were wrapped tightly around him, creating the most wonderful friction. 

Cicero didn't bother to ask her if she was enjoying herself. The flutter of her eyes, the jaggedness of her breath, the flush of her skin  they all screamed to him better than words ever did. 

Cicero's eyes widened when he realized that she was about to do that very thing. Phoebe was racing towards climax, her mouth making a small 'o'. Cicero had seen enough screamers to recognize one. Normally, he enjoyed the display, but it wouldn't do to draw that kind of attention towards them right now. 

He grabbed her head and pulled her towards him so his lips crashed against hers so her cry was muffled. She shuddered and clenched around him, causing Cicero to reach his peak and spill his seed in her. When it was over, she was little more than a limp body in his arms. As Cicero gently lowered Phoebe to her feet, he smirked as he thought of the Breton phrase "the little death." 

Phoebe stood shakily for a few seconds before sliding into a sitting position as she leaned against the counter. "Oh my," she said with a glazed look in her eyes. "So that's what that is all about." 

"May I have your cloth back?" Cicero asked as he crouched next to her. She gave it to him and he used it to clean himself before retying his pants. "You may want to wash that before you use it again." 

"Ew," Phoebe giggled when she accepted the soiled cloth. She casually tossed it into a nearby trash can. "I don't think I could smear that across my face again." 

Cicero stiffened when he heard the sound of laughter. The jester! 

"You have to go," Phoebe said, watching Cicero's reaction. She patted his hand. "Go on. Good luck with your mother. Sometimes I wish I had done better by mine when I had the chance." 

"Thank you," Cicero said simply as he ran his thumb over her chin. He studied her face, memorizing it in case they ever happen to run into each other again. It was unlikely they would meet again, but he never forgot a face and found himself liking this girl. 

Cicero darted out into the street and was pleased to see the jester walking casually away. The man was easy enough to spot in his red and black motley. The assassin fell into an easy step to stalk his prey. 

As he narrowed the gap, Cicero touched the dagger Phoebe had given him. A weapon should be used at least once before being retired. The blade would drink at least once in its career before being put aside. 

The jester rounded into a dark alley. Cicero looked around and saw there was no one nearby. His room was down this way. He pulled out his own cloth and soaked it with a sleeping potion. His prey was completely unaware as he swooped down on him. 

It was time.


End file.
